


7 things Dworin

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death, Cuddles, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erebor, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, blind Dwalin, sooooooooooo many cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: For Dworin Week 2017, seven short stories set in a variety of canon and AU scenarios.





	1. A flame [TSITS AU, Happy Ending version]

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT'S DWORIN WEEK! The first one is a fic from the Two Suns in the Sunset verse and the Happy AU ending of the AU at that. Lots of cuddles :)

"I really fucking hate fire," Dwalin murmurs, keeping a wary eye on the flames in the open fireplace before them.

"I know. Sorry." Thorin rubs his hands, staring at the fire. "But it was either that or freezing in this place."

"Well, we _could_ have tried that thing where we both cuddle together under a blanket naked to share body heat. But no, _you_ had to go and be reasonable and cruel and..."

Thorin snorts.

"I thought we'd already established that our lives aren't quite a romantic comedy," he points out. "Besides, there's always Bucky. He produces enough body heat for two anyway."

Dwalin frowns and glances at their dog who is the one being amongst them not uncomfortable around fire, stretched out in front of it and napping happily as it is.

"Thorin, I'm _not_ going to sleep with our dog."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Thorin remarks dryly. Dwalin throws a pillow at him that Thorin deflects with a laugh, trying to protect his beer bottle from the impact at the same time.

"That was different. You were in hospital again and it was cold. Can't let Bucky freeze now, can I. Also we didn't sleep together, we just shared the covers." Bucky opens his eyes briefly at the mention of his name, his tail thumping the ground half-heartedly before he goes back to sleep.

"You're making it worse," Thorin points out with a vicious grin. "And I don't even want to know what goes on at home when I'm not there, thank you."

"Well then you shouldn't ask," Dwalin shoots back. Thorin laughs and throws the pillow back at him before leaning back with a sigh, stretching out his legs as well as his aching limbs allow.

"I'd forgotten how nice this place actually is," he muses as he looks around. Dwalin grunts in agreement. They are in a small cabin, one that Thorin dimly remembers from early summer days back when Frerin was still too young to speak and Dís not even born. As he got older he had rarely accompanied his parents here; and once his father had known, he had refused to invite his older son to anything that might have taken place in their little holiday home. Thorin strongly suspects that this time it was Dís who said she'd take it with her sons for the week so that he and Dwalin could spend some uninterrupted days with each other for the first time in a long while.

Thorin is aware that there is a lot between them that they have consciously avoided so far, ever since they have been buried under a burning building and been pulled out barely alive. Somehow it never had been quite the right time - in between all the pain, physical and mental, the grief and trying to somehow find their ways back into something that bore a semblance to normal life including the arrival of Bucky the dog there just hadn't been the right moment yet. Now, however, that there was finally some semblance of peace in their household and with nothing more to do these few days than relearning themselves, that time might finally have come.

"Do you think the unit will ever be back to what it once was?" Thorin asks into the comfortable silence of the evening.

"The MPU?" Dwalin walks over to the fridge and gets another beer. He doesn't answer before he has taken a big gulp and frowns as he is doing so. "I don't know. I guess? Thranduil will hardly be hung up forever over our old bones and those that are gone."

"Yeah. But will it be the same?" Thorin looks down at the beer in his hand and then at the dog sleeping on their floor. He already knows they answer; nothing will quite be ever the same, after all.

"Of course not." Dwalin cocks his head, his eyes mustering Thorin's face. "What is it that you really want to ask?"

"Do you think you can ever forgive me for what's happened?" The words are out before Thorin can stop them. The question has been a boulder in his heart ever since he has woken up and realised everything that has come together; the question together with the guilt that is crushing him like a mountain.

“Wow that was…unexpected.” Dwalin expels a breath. Thorin’s insides clench at the fact that he hasn’t immediately responded with yes. “I don’t know, Thorin. It’s all just a giant mess in my head and I still can’t untangle it. I don’t…the thing is I don’t even know if this entire stuff is beyond simple guilt and forgiving. I think the only thing we can reasonably do is to move beyond it.”

Thorin looks down, turning the bottle in his hands. He should have expected an answer like this and a part of him knows that Dwalin is right – everything that has happened has been so monumental that it is almost impossible to stomach it as simply as any other thing.

“I don’t want you bearing a grudge towards me for the rest of your life though,” he says very quietly, still not looking up. “If there is anything I can do…I know I did wrong and I’ll do everything in my might to be better.”

“Hey, Thorin, look at me.” Dwalin slowly walks over until he plops down next to him, forcing Thorin to look him in the eye. “Do I look like I’m bearing a grudge? Or like I’m not enjoying our company or don’t love you or some bullshit like that?”

Thorin finally dares to gaze back and what he finds in the depths of Dwalin’s eyes leaves him breathless, like always.

“No.”

“That’s because I’m not. Oh, I surely was angry and pretty hurt for a quite a while but…” He lifts his fingers, one after the other, as if he wants to make sure that his words are being directly imprinted into Thorin’s mind. “…a) you’re not the only one who’s made mistakes here and b) I know you, probably better than you know yourself. And I know you’ll hold to your promise that you’ll keep trying. Just as I will. I mean, you weren’t the only one making mistakes here.”

 “As simple as that?” Thorin frowns slightly, one hand still clenched around the bottle.

“Well, simple is relative.” Dwalin laughs. “But yeah, I mean…as long as you can forgive my mistakes too? I promise I’ll work on my brashness and temper…”

“…and the fact that sometimes you forget to put your socks together into the machine so they get all jumbled,” Thorin smiles. “Of course I do. I guess we’re all just human after all, aren’t we? And humans learn from their mistakes. Or at least they should.”

“Yep.” Dwalin bends closer, lifting his hand. Thorin grabs it and bring it to his face, pressing a soft kiss to the scarred palm. Pain is written into the lines there, pain but also hope and the unquenchable thirst to live. Dwalin’s thumb is rubbing his cheek and for a moment Thorin does nothing but sink into the touch, pressing his head against him. Then he leans over, meeting Dwalin halfway for a kiss that both of them are eager to claim.

“Besides,” Dwalin grins again as they separate, “there is no way that I’d ever let that ass out of my grasp.”

Thorin snorts and slaps him lightly.

“We should have a serious talk if my ass is the only thing that makes you stay…”

“Oh, not the only thing by _far_.” Dwalin’s grin grows even more mischievous as his hand travels down towards Thorin’s groin.

“I fucking hate you.” Thorin grumbles, but does nothing to stop Dwalin’s hand in its course. Instead he leans over, caressing his jaw with his fingers.

“I love it when you go all romantic on me…” Dwalin whispers, drawing him close. Thorin’s retort is muffled in a kiss and not even Bucky coming over and attempting to lick their feet diverts them from their course.


	2. A clasp [canonverse]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day number two! The theme of this one was meetings and partings. And since I've made you happy yesterday I'm gonna make you sad today! Yay! Warning for grief and canonical character death.

Thorin keeps turning the ear clasps in his fingers over and over. They are beautiful, with a few minor imperfections that make them all the more unique and precious to him. It is unmistakeably Dwalin’s hand that has shaped them and when Thorin closes his eyes he can almost see his One carefully crafting them with his fingers, tongue slightly protruding between his lips like it always does when he concentrates.

What coincidence and yet how perfectly obvious that they should both have thought of giving each other those courting clasps at the same time. Thorin had been waiting many years to give Dwalin the ones he had designed and made – he had refused to cement his partnership with Dwalin until an heir to the royal line had been born even though there barely seems to be a dwarrow amongst the Longbeards who does _not_ know about their relationship. Nonetheless, Thorin had conceived the designs years ago, stored them at the bottom off his trunk until it was finally time to take them out. Dwalin’s thought process must have run in a rather similar vein.

Thorin smiles as his fingers run over the engravings and he hopes his partner takes as much delight in the clasps Thorin made as Thorin does in his. With careful movements he puts them on again, feeling the familiar little sting as the clasps first settle around his ears and then their comfortable weight hanging from his skin.

The sound of a door downstairs signals that Dwalin has returned from his day’s affairs, probably together with Puppy. Thorin laughs a little to himself; the domesticity he and Dwalin have found is still strange to him at times, as it feels both right and wrong. A part of him will always be convinced that they should be in Erebor together, should grow old in the stones of their home and not so far away under the burning sun of Ered Luin. The other part is happy that he has found and managed to hold on to what little happiness he has; even if he will always feel shame over allowing himself such happiness when his folk has suffered so much.

He turns when he hears the door to their room opening, catching a sheet of paper from the pile of documents he was reading as it tries to flutter away in the sudden gust of wind from the opening door.

"Hey." Dwalin waltzes over to him with Puppy right on his heels, pressing a quick kiss to Thorin's lips when they're close enough. "How's your thinking going?"

"My thinking?" Thorin laughs when Dwalin reaches out and tries to smooth the beginning lines on his forehead.

"Yeah, you had your thinking face on when I came in. And those wrinkles on your forehead, they're turning into canyons every time your mind is busy."

Thorin elbows his partner slightly in the ribs before picking up one of the papers in front of him at random.

"Lots of reports," he sighs. "Reports and suggestions and agreement drafts...you can't fault me for looking ten times my age with this entire barrage of things on my shoulders."

"We're brawns and brains, I know," Dwalin teases him and Thorin feels the temptation to elbow him again. Instead he snorts.

"Right. As if _you_ never think and _I_ never work physically." Dwalin only grins in reply and Thorin sigh exasperatedly, reaching down to pet Puppy who has come around to his chair. Of course this is the man he has chosen to love. How could it ever be anyone else?

*

Dwalin holds the clasp in his hand, his fingers perfectly still. He can remember shaping it as if it was yesterday, his fingers carving in the patterns and runes, their unique combination an expression of everything he and Thorin used to share. He doesn't need to turn it over to know what it looks like, doesn't want to. His own memory is sharp enough yet, cutting him with edges of remembrance where he'd rather forget. Every time he thinks the pain has left him completely numb it returns, like splinters stuck in his skin that hurt when he makes a wrong move.

Sometimes when he walks into his little room in Erebor he still expects there to be a double bed with Thorin sitting at his desk like he used to in Ered Luin, surrounded by papers and scrunching up his forehead as he is thinking about one government affair or another. But when he opens the door it always hits him like a slap to the face - the empty walls, the small nightstand, a little chest and chair and the unmade bed in the corner. All for one, not two.

All empty.

For a moment his fist clenches around the claps that he has taken from Thorin's ear with his own hands as they prepared him for burial before he sets it on the table, not having the strength to put it back on his own ear. A door sounds somewhere nearby as the heavy wood falls closed and he wishes it was Thorin, coming in and telling him it was all a nightmare, with Fíli and Kíli on his heels and Dís laughing behind him.

Instead it's Balin who enters his room not long after, quietly depositing a bowl of stew scraped together from their meagre winter rations at Dwalin's side.

"You should eat." His voice lacks his former conviction, however. Something has gone out inside him at the same time as Dwalin's heart was ripped away. Dwalin say nothing, only eyes the thin broth with a few sad vegetables and stringy pieces of meat in. Balin looks at him, then exhales softly, not having the strength to talk to his brother about something he has now way of coping with himself. His eyes linger quickly on the clasp on the table before he turns to leave.

"The mountain is too cold," Dwalin says quietly. They both know he isn't talking about temperature. Balin stops in his steps for a moment before he nods, but he doesn't turn around. The sound of the door falling shut is louder than it has any right to be.


	3. A harp [canonverse]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 is here! I realised that this fic has more emphasis on Thorin than Dworin per se, but there wasn't enough time to write another one, whoops. Anyway, have some more canonverse fic (but this time without the sad) about our king's favourite instrument. Theme was 'Good Times - Bad Times' (and if you don't have the Led Zeppelin song in your ear now I'll be sorely disappointed...)

The first time Thorin touches the harp he immediately knows that it's the instrument he wants to play. He has tried a few since he has always been fascinated by music, climbing on his grandfather's lap when he was playing the flute ever since he was big enough to get there. But none in the vast collection of the music school has captured his attention as much as the harp that stands in the corner. When Thorin tentatively plucks a string the note is like that of a drop of water falling onto a calm pool in the heart of the mountain; clear, high and setting the air alight with its clarity.

"That one!" He says, face beaming with joy at his find.

"It is not the easiest instrument to learn," the music teacher says hesitantly. "Many students give up after a while since it is complex to play and takes quite some time to master. Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Thorin replies without hesitation. He can almost hear the harp calling to him and knows without doubt that if he is to play an instrument, it will be that one.

"No doubt you are from the line of Durin," the teacher shares a smile with Sigvór, Thorin's mother. "I recognise that expression and I don't doubt there'd be little I could say to change your mind now."

"When can we start? Right now?" Thorin whips back and forth on his heels, impatient to properly hold the harp in his hands.

"Patience, my prince." The teacher holds up his hand. "First I will show you how harps are made, then how to tune one. And _then_ we will begin to play."

Thorin nods eagerly. He cannot wait.

*

Dwalin watches as Thorin carefully polishes the harp before putting it back into its case again. The instrument seems to be a part of Thorin now and nobody who Dwalin knows can imagine him without it anymore, ever since Frerin had gifted it to him a few months back.

"I wish old Master Fári were here and could show me more," Thorin sighs. "My fingers feel rusted like some old door hinges."

Dwalin nods, knowing as well as Thorin that the wishing was pointless since Fári was one of the many who had perished in the dragon's inferno at Erebor. It is rare for Thorin to mention anyone who has died there so casually and Dwalin smiled.

"You're still a better player than any of us here," he says, helping his partner to lift the harp case up onto its stand in the corner. Thorin snorted.

"That's because none of you ever learned how to play it. It's the same reason why you'll always be a better fiddler than me."

"You're too modest." Dwalin shakes his head, but he leaves it at that. He doesn't really have the patience for a debate that leads nowhere at the moment. Thorin just shrugs, throwing another piece of fabric over the case to protect it from any outside influences.  

"Have you ever thought about learning a second instrument?" Dwalin asks him as they walk out of the room. Thorin frowns, thinking about the question.

"Not, really, no," he admits. "I've got more than enough on my plate already and, well...I don't think I'd enjoy anything else as much as I do the harp."

"Unlikely, yes," Dwalin smiles. He is fairly sure that few people enjoy _anything_ as much as Thorin does playing the harp.

"I wonder if we'll ever have as many instruments again as we used to have in the mountain..." Thorin muses as they walk towards their bedroom. "And even if we do, will we ever be able to recover the knowledge on how to play them all?"

"Probably not." Dwalin sighs deeply. "But at least we can help preserve what we still have, no? Maybe you can start giving lessons..."

Thorin laughs.

"Maybe," he agrees.

*

"Gunna has taken well to the harp, has she not?" Dís smiles at Dwalin who is standing next to her. They are watching as the young dwarrowdam and Thorin finish the duet they have been performing. The boot stomping of the dwarves is deafening, resounding with the stone floor beneath their feet. Thorin modestly remains in the background, a slight, obviously proud smile on his lips when Gunna takes a big bow, a grin splitting her face.

Dís is unable to keep her smile from growing as well - it does her good to see that the traditions of their people will live on with the next generations. With each new pebble growing up and carrying on their skills Azanulbizar and the Fall of Erebor slowly vanish further into the past. The wounds will never heal fully but they are scabbing over, especially on evenings like this.

"So how are your fiddling lessons faring?" she asks, turning back towards Dwalin.

"Not too badly," he grins. "Mori and Bori are good students and I'm sure they'll be far enough along to play a few songs for the next Durin's Day."

"Incredible, how quickly they grow." Dwalin's aforementioned students are currently threading through the mass of people milling about in front of them, laughing wildly with a mug of ale in their hands. Dís watches as they walk over to Fíli and Kíli, he four of them evidently starting some kind of drinking contest. She sighs. Indeed, they grow up so quickly...

"Oh yes they do. Gunna, too," Dwalin agrees.

They are silent for a moment as they watch the other dwarrows milling about in the room. Thorin is slowly making their way towards them, having to stop again and again to receive congratulations for his teaching and general inquiries from his people. There is an impatience in his step that Dís recognises and her heart clenches slightly. She has always known that Thorin would leave for Erebor again one day; and of course Dwalin will come with him, for where Thorin goes, Dwalin follows. And now that the once young ones have grown up, strong enough to carry on the legacy of her own generation...there will be little that keeps Thorin here anymore, that much Dís can feel. A part of her itches to ask Dwalin when they are planning on leaving, but for now she still ignores it. At least tonight, she will revel in what they have, not what might be taken from them soon.

At least tonight, she will be happy.


	4. A scar [Everyone Lives AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme for this day was Body & Mind! I'm super fond of this little fic, I think it came out rather nicely :3. There is some argument and angsting in between, but the end is nothing if not happy (my version of the Everybody Lives AU, wooo!)

The first one comes when Thorin is just ten  - a few tottering steps, a moment of inattention from Balin who has turned to shush his crying baby brother instead, a curious hand stretched out towards the cup of hot tea on the table - and just a few moments later Thorin is crying, holding his arm where the scalding liquid has burned his skin.

An hour later his tears have dried and his arm is bandaged, with direct orders from the doctor not to scratch when it becomes itchy, making Thorin step from one foot to the other in a desperate urge to follow the orders. Balin is running around headless, trying to both calm the fussy pebble that is his brother Dwalin and not to shrivel out of existence under Thráin's glance who came as soon as he heard of the disturbance.

During the confusion Thorin slowly inches away from his father's side towards the clamouring baby in his crib. Dwalin already has fuzz on his cheeks as is only proper for a little dwarfling, although it will be a while until he can braid it yet. Dwalin's face is red from screaming and his tiny fists are waving through the air as if he is battling invisible foes. Thorin doesn't know what to do with pebbles, it's always been Balin or others who have taken care of Dwalin. But the screaming annoys him and grates at his ears and Balin is busy enough with Thorin's Da, so he hesitantly holds out his hand towards the pebble, unsure of what to do.

Dwalin's clear eyes fly open for a moment and his screaming quiets a little, although it is far from over. He seems to study Thorin for a moment before scrunching up his face again, about to continue screaming.

"No, no, ssshhhhh," Thorin says desperately. He _really_ doesn't like small pebbles. Snatching the first best thing he can find from the floor (a small wooden figurine of a dwarf warrior) he waves it in front of Dwalin, starting to hum one of his favourite songs as he does so. First Dwalin doesn't seem to listen, but after a moment his wailing stops again as his eyes follow the figurine and his hands wave around uselessly, trying to grasp the toy. Thorin's freshly bandaged arm hurts, but he doesn't stop playing with Dwalin until the little dwarfling has finally calmed down.

*

They are a neat set of four parallel lines down Dwalin's side, from his waist down to the front of his hips. Thorin knows they will scar eventually, but now they are still angry and red, marring Dwalin's skin, interrupted only where the fine stitches of their healer are holding them together. Thorin resists the urge to trace them with his fingers, not wanting to cause his partner any pain. Instead he carefully spreads the ointment over them and watches as Dís helps him wrap them up again.

Dwalin doesn't say a single word throughout the entire ordeal, but his eyes are watching Thorin's every move, taking note of every frown on Thorin's face, every little hitch in his motions which indicate that something isn't quite as it should be. Dís' glance flickers nervously back and forth between them - she has always been perceptive, far more so than any other members of their family. This is the first time that Dwalin is truly awake for having his bandages changed and even he can feel that something is not as it should be.

"How bad is it?" Dwalin finally asks. Thorin and Dís exchange a gaze.

"Your wound?" Thorin doesn't even wait for a reply before he continues. "It's looking good, if we keep treating it properly you should be up and about in a few days and-"

"I'm not talking about myself." There is a quiet intensity to Dwalin's voice. Thorin thinks he can hear something almost like a plea underneath it all. He looks down at his hand, opening and closing his fingers, not knowing what to tell Dwalin.

"Thorin, I'm not stupid. And I have eyes in my head. How bad is it?"

"Not too terrible," Thorin murmurs, still avoiding Dwalin's gaze. He doesn't quite know why he hasn't told Dwalin yet - maybe out of a twisted sense of guilt, of not wanting to make Dwalin worry too much, of letting him concentrate on his own healing first. Whatever it was, the damage is done. He can hear a piece of trust between them break off and disappear and wonders how long it will take to rebuild it.

"Liar." The word hurts more than anything else and Thorin reaches up to rub his side where the orc's sword had pierced his flesh as he had been trying to carry Dwalin to safety. At least his wound hadn't gotten infected like Dwalin's did.

"I should go," Thorin says, staring at the wall as he cleans his hands and stands up to move towards the door. He can feel Dwalin's accusing stare in his back, but both of them are too proud to say anything.

*

"Remember when we had that argument about you getting hurt when keeping me safe and then trying to hide it from me?"

"Mhm." Thorin's reply is barely more than a murmur, but he tries to follow Dwalin's voice nonetheless. His thoughts are unbearably slow, as if the snow and ice around them have entered his veins and filled the spaces in his mind.

"I think that was the first time we actively screamed at each other," Dwalin muses, his hands clenched firmly around Thorin's legs. It's a good thing that dwarves are such strong people - otherwise he would have never been able to carry his partner like this. Thorin makes another non-committal noise. Mahal, but he is tired.

There is a tiny voice inside his mind that shouts at him to stay awake and not give in, to keep clinging to Dwalin's words who is rambling all those anecdotes for Thorin to do exactly that. He knows that if he goes to sleep now, chances are that he might never wake up. He doesn't even know if the blood on his back is simply frozen or if it is a different kind of cold that is seeping through his veins.

"Do you remember who it was that finally made us calm down and actually talk to each other?" Dwalin asks, twice, not giving up until he hears Thorin answer.

"Dís," Thorin mumbles finally. "Dís."

"That's right." If Thorin wasn't so tired he could have probably heard the smile in Dwalin's voice. "She told us both to cool off and then talk like actual dwarves, not little children."

It takes a disconcertingly long time for Thorin's brain to conjure up the memories that Dwalin is talking about. The only thing that seems of any importance to him from it is his sister's face - the way her eyes blaze when she is angry, with her hair escaping the so carefully made braids of her hair and beard, the way the skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, changing the shape of her tattoos. It seems so alive even in his memory. He shudders a little, a motion that Dwalin can feel. His partner tries to quicken his step so that they will be back at the camp faster, but he, too, is out of breath and getting more and more tired.

"You've got to help me here, Thorin," Dwalin pleads quietly, forcing out the words between deep breaths. "Tell me something, tell me about Dís. Or Víli. Or Fíli and Kíli. C'mon, I can't do all the work of keeping you awake by myself."

Thorin grunts something unintelligible, gasping for breath when a sudden movement of Dwalin's jarrs the broken arrow in his back.

"Sorry." Dwalin keeps on moving nonetheless. The sharp pain, despite its unpleasantness, finally brings some sense back into Thorin's addled mind and he pulls more sharply at his thoughts, forcing himself to stay awake. Somewhere, in the back of his head, they are all urging him along - his sister and her family, his friends and Dwalin, always Dwalin, never parting from his side for long.

*

Despite his sight gone, Thorin knows Dwalin's body as if it were his own. His fingers have travelled the landscape of his partner's skin so often that he could draw each feature from memory alone. Each part tells a story of its own, one more treasured than the last. To him, all these marks and scars are what makes Dwalin beautiful.

"Are you reading my skin again?" Thorin can hear the smile in Dwalin's voice as he scoots a little closer. His broad back is turned towards Thorin, their legs entangled and a deep peace stretched out over them like a blanket. Now that Thorin has given official kingship over to Fíli and Dwalin has retired from most of his guard duties, they enjoy spending their days with no haste. 

"Are you still asking the same questions you did a hundred years ago?" Thorin shoots back softly. His fingers wander down and graze the four neat lines along Dwalin's side, remembering the warg attack from so long ago as if it were yesterday. A laugh rumbles through Dwalin's chest, painting a smile on Thorin's face. He loves the way Dwalin's muscles move when he's laughing.

"You're becoming cocky in your old age," Dwalin muses as he carefully turns around. His fingers travel over the old burn scar on Thorin's arm, up to the one on his back from the arrow wound. Thorin shivers lightly under his touch - even after so many years, it has never lost its magic. Thorin's hand searches for Dwalin's beard until he finds it, carding his fingers through the rough strands. Dwalin hums lightly in enjoyment.

"Maybe you're only starting to notice it now," he replies with a little grin. Dwalin snorts.

"Nonsense. Seems as if retirement has brought out some unknown sides to you..."

"Is that a challenge?" Thorin tugs at Dwalin's beard, a little more forcefully than usual.

"Mhmmmm. If you want it to be..." Dwalin's voice trails off when Thorin pulls him close for a kiss. Neither of them is as strong and as forceful as they used to be over a century ago, but it has not changed the passion between them, nor the surge of warmth Thorin feels every time he is close to his One. Thorin laughs, the feeling of Dwalin's skin beneath his hands strong and firm, the scars rough against his palm as his fingers curl around the coarse hair of Dwalin's chest.

Dozens of scars, all bearing witness to many chapters of their lives they have written together. One by one, they were shaped by those scars and although Thorin wishes they might not have caused him such grief, he cannot fault them for the lessons they have taught. As he slowly gets lost between touch and heat, Thorin cannot help but smile at the perfection that always has, always is and always will be his. Such luck that he can scarcely believe.


	5. A silver hair [Everybody Lives AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar structure and same AU as yesterday, although a bit more light-hearted in between. Everybody Lives and this time it's about hair! \o/

"Udad, why is your hair silver?"

Thorin tugs at his grandfather's tunic in a steady rhythm until Thrór diverts his attention to him. He offers Thorin an arm and smiles when the little dwarfling uses it to climb up into his lap. His little hands immediately reach out to grab the greying strands and Thrór patiently endures the continuous tugging at his scalp.

"It's because I'm old," he laughs. "The older you get, the more silver you have in your hair."

"Then I want to be older," Thorin states, matter-of-factly. "So that my hair looks as nice as yours."

Thrór laughs again, patting Thorin's head. "You will, one day I hope. Sadly old age brings with it other things that are not as nice as silver hair," he muses.

"What things?" Thorin's hands are still playing with his hair, wrapping strands around his fingers and unwrapping them again and again. Thrór wishes Thorin hadn't been dabbling in food just now since he notices his hair becoming stickier by the moment. He sighs.

"There are a lot of responsibilities, for once. Things that you have to do even though you don't want to. And those people you love might not be with you all the time anymore."

Thorin frowns.

"But I love you and I'm here. Ma and da are too."

"Yes, they are," Thrór smiles. "I should probably remember that more often."

"Mhm." Thorin has already turned his attention back to Thrór's hair although he clearly keeps thinking. "What things don't you like? Ma always says that if I don't like something I still have to do it since that's what a king does."

Thrór sighs; sometimes he wishes he could spare Thorin from all the lessons that are all being drilled into him already just a little longer.

"I don't like it when I have to make people do things that might endanger them," he says softly. "I don't like long council sessions."

"Ha, me too!" Thorin agrees, even though he has never been to a council session - the one time he had managed to sneak in he fell asleep underneath the table shortly after, probably bored by all the talking. Thrór laughs and shifts his legs slightly so that Thorin can sit more comfortably. Yes, he truly wishes he could spare his grandson all that responsibility just a while longer.

*

"Amad, why is your hair all grey when Da's isn't?" Dwalin frowns as he stares up at his mother who is currently working on some engravings. Varna puts her tools aside and sighs, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"So many questions...and I thought the first one had managed to ask them all already," she murmurs before opening her eyes again and attempting an answer. "It's because different dwarrows have different hair, Dwalin. Some people's hair goes gray more quickly than others', like mine."

"But why?" Dwalin insists, walking up to her and staring at her hair in its multitude of braids.

"I'm not sure. Once you go to school, you will find out," Varna tells him with a confidence that she doesn't feel.

"If people go grey when they grow old...does that mean one day Balin will be grey too? And Thorin? And..." his eyes open wide, this clearly being the first time that he is contemplating that possibility, "... _mine too_?"

Varna tries to hold back a laugh.

"Yes, one day, probably. But that day is far away still."

"Hm." Dwalin doesn't sound convinced, drawing forth a strand of his own hair and looking at it as if to check that it hasn't gone grey already.

"Well, I guess it isn't too bad," he says after some thinking. Nodding with satisfaction to himself, he returns to his early task of playing with his wooden toys. Varna just shakes her head and smiles quietly to herself.

*

"Your hair is going grey." Thorin sounds heavily amused as he runs his fingers through Dwalin's hair and holds up a strand that has a glimmer of silver in it.

Dwalin snatches the hair out of Thorin's hands and grumbles something, turning onto his side. Thorin suppresses a laugh, reaching out to massage Dwalin's head again with his fingers.

"No reason to be grumpy," he says, not able to hide the amusement in his voice.

"This isn't funny!" Dwalin turns and glares at him. The fact they are both entirely naked and were cuddling together side by side in bed a few moments ago somewhat destroys the effect, however.

"And why not?" Thorin bends down to press a kiss on his partner's bare shoulder. He is in a strangely affectionate mood today; it doesn't happen too often, but from time to time he feels like he is suddenly starving for physical contact. More often than not Dwalin seems to welcome those times. Today, however, he pulls away slightly and Thorin, understanding what he signals, doesn't pursue him any further. Instead he frowns.

"Well..." Dwalin pulls back a little more, obviously slightly embarrassed for no reason apparent to Thorin.

"I always thought grey hair looked kinda...strange. Not as nice. And I thought that maybe...you wouldn't like me anymore. As much. Uhm."

Thorin stares at him open-mouthed, trying to wrap his mind around Dwalin's words.

"That's..." He frowns and starts again, trying to bring his thoughts in order. "Perhaps I should tell you about the time when I was very little and, according to my grandfather, expressed my strong desire to become very old very quickly so that I'd have hair as silver as nice and silver as his, because I thought it was beautiful."

"Oh." Dwalin looks down rather sheepishly at the strands of his spread on the pillow. "Now I feel...a little stupid."

Thorin laughs and wraps his partner in his arms, trying to soothe away the frown on his face.

"You're not stupid," he whispers in his hair. "You were just worried, is all. I'm glad you told me why, though."

Dwalin grumbles something unintelligible, but he visibly relaxes in Thorin's arms, especially when Thorin begins to hum quietly and plait the strands of his hair with gentle fingers.

*

"HA!"

Thorin nearly falls over in shock, banging his head at the wall when he comes back up. Cursing and with teary eyes he stares at Dwalin who is standing next to their bed, looking far too delighted for Thorin's taste.

"What is it?!" He is almost yelling the words, pressing his hand to the back of his head.

"You have grey hair!" Dwalin doesn't seem to be too perturbed by Thorin's pain. Instead he points at his head, picking out a strand from the back where a single grey hair is shining through.

"And that was worth me getting half a concussion?" Thorin is still vaguely angry, but it's impossible to stay so for long, not when Dwalin seems so gleefully happy for some reason.

"Yes! Sorry," Dwalin leans over to press a kiss to Thorin's aching head before going back to examining his hair, plopping down on the bed beside him, "but I just got really excited there for a moment."

"Over a hair." Thorin just stares at him.

"A grey hair!" Dwalin corrects him. "Thorin, you've finally caught up with me! Don't you realise? My One who is _older_ than me has finally reached the state of greyness with me! I don't need to be embarrassed to be outside with you anymore!"

Thorin continues to stare.

He does so for a good long while before he breaks out into haltless laughter, the book he was reading in sliding off his knees.

"You were embarrassed to be next to me _because I didn't have grey hair yet_?" he wheezes. Dwalin seems a little taken aback by Thorin's sudden burst of hilarity.

"Well...not directly embarrassed but...you know..."

"Incredible. Well, now that I'm going silver, all your fears can be put to rest now, can't they." Thorin is still shaking slightly with silent laughter.

"You're making fun of me," Dwalin pouts, stretching out on the bed next to Thorin. Thorin grins, running his fingers through Dwalin's hair that seems to contain just as much brown as it does grey.

"Never," he winks before he bends down to kiss him.

*

"Dwalin?"

"Hm?"

Thorin's hands are slowly making their way over Dwalin's body, searching for his shoulders.

"Have we ever determined who won the race of going gray fastest?" There is laughter in his voice and after a moment he can feel it bubbling up inside Dwalin's chest, too.

"You did," Dwalin says, completely serious.

"Liar. You're just saying that because I can't see and confirm it. It has to have been you." Thorin elbows him slightly in what he feels are his ribs.

"Hey, if you don't believe me then why did you ask in the first place?" Dwalin sounds lightly insulted, but Thorin can still hear the smile on his face.

"I wanted to be polite?" Thorin pulls at Dwalin's hair as a laugh breaks free from Dwalin's throat. Dwalin's hand closes over his and travels back up over Thorin's arm, up his neck, to follow the line of his chin.

"In truth, I think you're beautiful with your hair all silver," Dwalin says softly. "More beautiful than I ever thought you'd be."

"Flatterer." Thorin smiles, feeling Dwalin trace the curve of his lips. His own hands travel to Dwalin's face, exploring the landscape of wrinkles mapped across it and wishing once again he could see at least once what his partner looks like now. He can try and imagine it, true, but to see the clear grey of Dwalin's eyes once more...Thorin sighs and then banishes such thoughts. They will lead nowhere.

"Nah, I'm only speaking the truth," Dwalin grins and kisses Thorin's palm before moving closer. Thorin meets him halfway and for a while any thought of hair and its colour is lost in an ocean of different pleasures.


	6. A dog [modern AU; blind Dwalin]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, shit is gettin' fluffy this year...no idea why I'm fluffing my way through Dworin Week instead of angsting and porning it, like usual *shakes head*. Anyway, this one is set in my blind!Dwalin modern AU (more stories from this AU can be found in 'Bittersweet Symphony'), one of only two Dworinverses I have where they actually get married. Enjoy the doggy goodness ;).

"Who's that?" Thorin frowns when he looks up from the paperwork on his desk.

"A dog." Dís raises an eyebrow, as if to say 'how didn't you see that?'.

"I know _what_ it is, I wanted to know _who_. What's the dog doing here?" Thorin rubs his forehead, currently not in the mood for any of his sister's antics. He loves her more than anything, but today has already been a rotten day and he doesn't really want to deal with anything living, human _or_ animal, right now.

"No need to be so grumpy." Dís coaxes the dog with her along until they stand right in front of Thorin. It's a German Shepherd, looking exactly like most of the police dogs Thorin has worked with. Despite his mood Thorin gets up to greet the dog; it seems rather shy, but after a moment its tail starts wagging ever so slightly.

"What's their name?" Thorin begins to pet the dog carefully; it rather seems to like it.

"Vee." A smile travels over Dís' face as she watches them. "And she's yours if you'd like to take her in."

"Uhm." Thorin's lost for words; whatever he had expected, it certainly wasn't that.

"She used to work with a different police unit than yours, but has seen a bit too much and was diagnosed with PTSD and retired from service. All she needs is someone she can trust, and, well, since you're still living alone..."

"...you thought that there's no better owner for a broken dog than a broken man." Thorin hasn't intended his reply to sound quite this sharp but he doesn't have the strength to take back his words.

"If that's how you want to see it, then fine." There is something sharp in Dís' voice and glittering in her eyes. "You're not the only one whose wounds will never heal."

Thorin doesn't reply anything for a moment, just closing his eyes and forcing himself to take deep breaths. Vee whines slightly and suddenly a warm weight presses against him.

"Sorry," he says, his hands buried in the dog's fur. He still doesn't open his eyes. Somehow, talking to the darkness behind his eyelids is easier. "It's just been...a pretty shitty day so far."

He doesn't mention his panic attack from the morning when his neighbours had burned their bacon and the smell had set off a barrage of unwanted memories. He doesn't have to - Dís knows what's behind his words anyways.

"Well, looks like Vee's presence is already helping. I'll leave you two alone so you can get acquainted a bit better and then we can go for a walk together?"

"Yes. Yes, that'd be nice."

Thorin only opens his eyes again when the door falls shut and he's alone with the dog in his flat. He pets Vee until his hammering heart has calmed down again and even then keeps sitting on the floor for a while, wondering, as always, if his life will ever have the meaning again it once had.

*

"Dwalin, meet Bucky."

Dwalin holds out his hand and waits patiently for the dog to step closer. After a moment he can feel a dog licking his hand and he laughs, reaching out to pet Bucky. It doesn't take long for him to get acquainted with his new guide dog. The waiting lists for guide dogs are long and he's been especially lucky to get one after a relatively short time, possibly helped by some connections of his brother's that he doesn't want to think too closely about for it would make him feel too guilty.

He can hear the dog trainer talk to Balin in the background but for now he concentrates firmly on Bucky. It doesn't take long for the trainer to come over and explain to him just everything that Bucky has been trained to do and Dwalin marvels at how much Bucky seems to know.

"What kind of dog is he?" He wants to know as the trainer shows him how to put the harness with its handle on Bucky.

"He's a brown lab," Balin tells him. "A rather adorable looking one, I have to say."

Dwalin has to laugh at that. After practising a few times with the harness they are ready to go outside together. Suddenly he gets nervous - what if something doesn't work out? What if he accidentally ends up injuring Bucky? Or runs into people? What if-

"You're worrying again." Balin speaks next to him.

"Well, this is the first time me and Bucky are going out and-"

"...and there will always be a first time. You have us with you and Bucky seems pretty eager to get out, right Bucky?" Dwalin can feel Bucky's tail wag slightly in response. He puts one hand on the dog's head, more to calm himself than the animal. He wonders where all the courage he seemed to once have had in spades has gone.

"We've had a lot of test runs with Bucky, too. He knows what he's doing," the trainer adds. Her voice is patient, belying the fact that this isn't the first time she's giving this speech.  

"But I don't," Dwalin counters with a lop-sided smile.

"Oh, we can work on that too. No worries. So far everyone has survived their first outing."

Dwalin nods, put slightly at ease by his brother's and the trainer's words. He takes a deep breath, grabbing Bucky's handle more tightly.

"Let's go."

*

"Oh FUCK." Thorin keeps cursing to himself as he runs after Vee whose is happily bouncing across the meadow of the park. He can see the dog she obviously wants to play with - an assistance or guide dog, judging from the bright harness it's wearing. Thorin knows that it's bad to distract any such dogs from their work and this one looks like its owner might have lost it to boot.

"Vee!" He calls out for her, but right now she seems rather distracted. "Vee, come back!"

Finally, and slightly out of breath, he reaches the two dogs who seem to be almost _too_ happy to have found each other. Thorin can feel a blush creeping up his face and hopes that no one else is watching.

"Vee, come on, leave the other dog be," he murmurs, clipping on her leash again and gently trying to pull her away. It's the first time he's seen her this ecstatic when it _isn't_ about food or playing fetch. The other dog, a brown labrador, whines slightly, but doesn't get aggressive at all, not even when Thorin offers him his hand to sniff and starts petting him to help calm him down.

"Now, who do you belong to? Did you get lost?" Thorin keeps talking to the dog even as he looks around. He sees a few people walking around, but none of them look like they might be searching for a dog. There are a few more people on benches around him and his gaze falls onto a man with sunglasses who is sitting on one of the benches closest to him. There is a cane leaning on the bench with a handle next to it and Thorin looks down at the dog again. It seems reasonable to assume that the two belong together.

"Excuse me, sir?" Thorin calls out when he thinks he has reached a reasonable distance. The man on the bench perks up.

"Yes?" His voice is deep and smooth, a voice that seems instantly trustworthy. The other dog's tail immediately starts wagging and he goes bounding off towards the man.

"I'm sorry, my dog got a bit overexcited and started...playing with yours. I swear she isn't like that normally, seems like she might be in heat or something..." Thorin's voice trails off as he bites his tongue. He probably doesn't sound exactly intelligent right now.

"That's no problem, isn't it, Bucky?" The man laughs and starts petting his dog. Thorin feels something go soft inside him at the sound of his laugh. "We often rest here and I take the handle off so that he can play a little. The trainer told me I shouldn't do it but Bucky's usually too well-behaved to cause any trouble and I like him to have his freedoms, so..."

"Ah, good. I'm relieved. Still, sorry again." Thorin is glad to hear that everything appears to be completely normal.

"No worries." The man smiles before holding out his hand in his general direction. "Dwalin, nice to meet you."

Thorin takes the offered hand and shakes it. Dwalin's grip is warm and firm, somehow fitting the laugh Thorin has heard earlier.

"Thorin, nice to meet you too."

*

"Why'd you never tell me?" Dwalin's voice seems devoid of emotion. Thorin flinches nonetheless - had the words been shouted they cut not have cut more deeply.

"I-" He honestly doesn't know how to explain. What is he supposed to say? That he's been in a fire when he was a teenager where his brother burned to death and he just made it out with his sister in his arms when their parents weren't home? That he hates even thinking of these memories and that the scars it left on one side of his face are a mark of shame to him, physical proof that he's too weak to protect those he loves? That he was scared Dwalin would think him ugly, damaged and weak once he knew? How could he say all of these things to a man who has bared his soul to him and shared all his pain and fears, making his own little worries sound so ridiculous?

"I didn't know how," he whispers.

"But it's nothing. They're just scars." Dwalin sounds confused.

"They are _not_." Thorin feels anger rise inside him that he tries to quell. It isn't Dwalin's fault that he's so jumpy and easily hurt today. "They are..." he gestures, only then remembering that Dwalin can't actually see his jerky movements. "...they're marks. They're shameful. _Ugly_."

"I don't think you're ugly," Dwalin says carefully. He seems to notice that they are on very slippery ground here and oh, how Thorin wishes that things could just be as easy as always.

"That's because you can't see me." The words slip out of him before he can hold them back.

"That's right. I can't." Suddenly, Dwalin's voice is as sharp and cold as folded steel. "My fault for thinking that beauty has more to do than with how someone looks."

"That's not what I meant!" Thorin knows that he's sounding frustrated, but he doesn't know how to explain himself any better.

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Dwalin's tone belies that his patience is very, very close to snapping too. Thorin can't believe he hasn't thought of this - the evening had been going so well, with a few beers, some good music despite the storm howling outside, slowly getting closer to each other, Dwalin feeling his face as they were leaning in for a kiss...and then his fingers had brushed over Thorin's scars and it had all been over.

"I usually don't-" Thorin stops himself before he can say ' _I usually don't talk about it_.' He feels like he would be betraying something with those words. Instead, he takes a very, very deep breath, praying the he won't be regretting the next moments.

"It's a long story..."

*

"Hey, remember when we nearly kissed for the first time and then had that argument?" Dwalin's hand is running little circles on Thorin's arms as Thorin sighs contentedly.

"Mhm?" He is half asleep already with Dwalin pressing against his front and into his embrace.

"I never told you just how close I was to leaving that moment. And how, at the end, your story was what made me take off my glasses."

Thorin is quiet for a long time and Dwalin wonders if he has fallen asleep. Then he can feel him moving slightly, his fingers searching for Dwalin's and wrapping themselves around them.

"And I only told the story because you told me yours," he says quietly. "Our courage feeds each other."

"Sounds like out of a bad novel," Dwalin laughs and after a moment he can feel Thorin chime in too, the sound reverberating in his bones and through his chest. He loves that feeling, more than little else in the world; Thorin's laughter has always been something that has told him more about the way he must look than anything else.

"Maybe we _are_ out of a bad novel," Thorin murmurs into his bare skin as he kisses Dwalin's back.

"Well, it can't be that bad if we're in it," Dwalin says and he can feel Thorin smile into his back. "Anyway, I'm glad that we talked. And that it wasn't over right then and there."

"Oh, me too," Thorin laughs. "Me too."

*

 Thorin frowns. Is that singing that he's hearing? He casts a quick glance to his side and sure enough, he can see Dwalin's mouth moving underneath the motorcycle helmet. He laughs and speeds up a little more, relishing the feeling of the wind in his face.

Who'd have thought that he'd ever be on a honeymoon? And a honeymoon like this to boot? At some point, not long before their wedding, he and Dwalin'd had the idea of buying an old motorcycle with a sidecar and embarking on a trip around the country after their wedding, all the way up to the northernmost mainland point of Scotland and then back down to the coast. It only took a few hours for them to realise that this has, in fact, been a _great_ idea. Not even being separated from their dogs for two weeks can take the joy of the journey away from them.

Dwalin keeps putting his face in the wind, obviously enjoying every single second that he's sitting in the sidecar. He once told Thorin that he never thought he'd ever sit on a motorcycle again; his brother Balin doesn't have a license for one and he has never trusted anyone else enough to drive with them. The first tour he and Thorin took together had ignited an old fire inside him and once they had discovered the sidecar, there had been no holding him back anymore.

Thorin stops at a large parking lot right next to the sea, taking off his helmet and enjoying the breeze. After a moment Dwalin stands up beside him, breathing in deeply.

"Ah, I've always loved the smell of the sea and the ocean breeze," he says with a happy sigh.

"Me too." Thorin wraps an arm around Dwalin's waist and his husband responds by leaning into him.

"Never in a million years would I have imagined a day like this to come," Dwalin muses and Thorin agrees with him.

"Aren't we two lucky men," he says quietly, his words almost snatched away by the wind. Dwalin laughs.

"Indeed we are."


	7. A weapon [Everybody Lives AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last one! This is a slightly different Everybody Lives AU than the ones beforehand, the one from 'We pull apart the darkness while we can' - the last piece is set directly before the last chapter of that fic (though you don't have to have read it to be able to read this ;)).

Dwalin finds him in his favourite spot, close to the top of one of the statues in the grand hall where there's a little niche that they've discovered not long ago. Thorin is sniffling quietly, turning away from Dwalin and burying his head in his arms when his friend climbs up and plops down next to him.

Instead of speaking Dwalin only gets out a cookie and starts munching on it whilst he waits for Thorin's sobs to subside.

"Hey, want one too?" he asks, offering a second cookie to his friend when Thorin finally looks up again, face still streaked with tears. He nods and takes the cookie, beginning to eat it with small, careful bites.

"I'm never good enough," Thorin says suddenly, staring down at the cookie in his hands. "No matter what I do, I can never please anyone. My fighting, my reading, my writing...they always tell me that I'm good but that I can be even better. I bet they never told my father or granddad that."

"But you're pretty good at all of these," Dwalin frowns. "Especially fighting."

"Not as good as you though," Thorin gives him a lop-sided smile. "They never have a single bad word for you."

"That's because I'm not supposed to be king one day." Dwalin yawns and stretches out a little. "I only have to guard your back once you are. So I _have_ to be the best at fighting, no?"

Thorin thinks about his comment for a moment before taking another bite of the cookie.

"Probably, yeah," he finally admits. "Still..."

"Oh, forget about them all. You'll make an awesome king one day, I know it." Dwalin laughs and elbows Thorin slightly in the ribs. Thorin nods, eating the rest of his cookie and Dwalin is glad to see that the darkness over his mind seems to have receded a little bit.

*

Dwalin feigns a slash to the left before stepping right and extending his other arm in a direct stab towards his opponent's stomach. It gets blocked however, and followed up immediately with a step aside and another lunge in his direction that almost brings him off balance. Dwalin curses when his opponent's blade slaps his arm. If they'd been carrying sharpened weapons he'd now have a hand less to fight with.

"You're still not fast enough." Master Ketla shakes their head. "You need to hone those reflexes so that you don't even have to _think_ about what you're doing."

"But I've been practising for hours each day and I never seem to improve!" Dwalin is so frustrated he's nearly shouting. Today is especially bad - usually he gets at least a few hits in but today he somehow feels like he's _worse_ than in the days before.

"It's a slow and steady process," Master Ketla explains patiently. "Eventually you'll find that all the training has been worth it."

"But I what if my skills are needed _now_ , not only in a few years?" Dwalin is horrified by the thought that Thorin and both of their families might need his protection one day and he won't be able to give it to them because he just isn't _good_ enough.

"True battle doesn't only depend on skill." Master Ketla sounds hesitant as they're saying those words, as if they're revealing information they hadn't wanted to reveal just yet. "In the heat of the fighting things can get...random. Of course skill helps, but sometimes it doesn't."

"Then why am I training at all?" Dwalin feels like he's running in circles here.

"Because skill can make quite the difference and only practise makes perfect. And I think this has been enough training for today. Indeed, I saw Prince Thorin head off to a late lunch earlier, perhaps you might want to head in the same direction?"

Dwalin is proud that he's blushing only slightly and immediately feels guilty that he's relieved that he can leave for today. But then, Thorin probably _is_ waiting for him and that alone is enough for him to override the guilt for now.

*

"Hey, Thorin!"

Thorin turns just in time to catch the stick that Dwalin is throwing at him. He turn it over in his hands, not quite knowing what Dwalin wants him to do with it yet.

"C'mon, let's fight for a bit. Just like we used to." Dwalin laughs and easily falls into a practise stance. Thorin frowns, still unsure of what to do. His brain is reeling and it takes a moment for him to remember that indeed, the last time they have sparred had probably been in the Iron Hills, although his memory of the time is still muddled, as if he's looking back at it through a smudged mirror.

"I don't know. Why now?" Thorin wants to know.

"We haven't sparred in ages," Dwalin laughs, hefting his stick from one hand to the other. "And you looked like it might do you some good. C'mon."

Thorin still doesn't know what to do, although his body is already reacting to Dwalin's stance and the fire in his eyes.

"I'm not sure..."

"Well, I don't want to force you." Dwalin relaxes slightly, although the disappointment in his eyes is apparent. "If you truly don't want to...but I thought it might be nice."

His words jolt Thorin awake slightly and he gives himself a push. Dwalin is right, for a change they truly have nothing else to do on this journey of months down into the southwest from the Iron Hills. And maybe he'll indeed like it once they start.

"Let's do it." He gives Dwalin a smile that he hopes is convincing.

They fall into their stances and begin to spar. It takes a bit for Thorin to get back into it but the moves are familiar and soon he loses himself in the motions and the old rhythm as he and Dwalin rediscover the activity that had once brought them the greatest joy together.

"That was good," Thorin pants when they finally stop. He feels exhausted, but in a good way rather than a the emotionally empty way that seems to be eating at him since Erebor fell. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Dwalin laughs and pats him on the shoulder. After a moment Thorin returns the smile, allowing himself to feel the comfort of Dwalin's warmth and an old routine brought back to life.

*

"Dwalin." The word falls through the air and drops to the ground, lying there as if dead. "Dwalin."

The dark figure sitting on the carpeted floor doesn't stir, not even when Thorin steps closer. He doesn't know what else he can say. Ever since Azanulbizar the words seem to have dried up in his throat. Sometimes his thoughts seem so sluggish and slow that he can barely follow them. During other times the barrage of words in his heads makes him want to scream.

"Dwalin, please," he begs. Finally, his friend stirs, slowly standing up and turning around to face Thorin. Thorin shudders when he sees his eyes. They seem like two discarded stones, flat and dead.

"Balin asked me to bring this to you. They found it whilst..." he bites his tongue. Not even now can he face the monumental amount of grief that has been heaped over them by using such direct words. "...when they were cleaning up."

He holds out his hand with a small, engraved dagger in it. Dwalin reaches out to take it, but his fingers stop short of the metal. Of course he has recognised it, just like those who had found it on the battlefield. His father had made it for his mother long ago, the final one of their courting gifts. Varna had carried the dagger everywhere and after her death Fundin had taken it back as was custom. He had always had it with him.

"Have they found your brother's ring yet?" Dwalin asks, still not making a move to take the dagger. Thorin flinches, a sharp noise suddenly ringing in his ears.

"No." He doesn't even know if the words are audible. Some orc had hacked off Frerin's arm, hopefully after he died and nobody has found it and the family heirloom in his fingers yet. Thorin clenches the fist of his one hand until his own ring digs deeply into his skin.

Dwalin finally takes the dagger, holding it in his hands like he doesn't know what to do with it. There are wet traces on his cheeks.

"I hope they'll find," is all that he says, but somehow there is a flower of empathy blossoming there, small and tiny but there nonetheless. In the desolate wasteland that is their thinking at the moment it shines like a small sun. Thorin can only nod. His eyes are burning but unlike Dwalin he seems to be unable to cry. It's as if the emptiness inside him has even swallowed his tears.

*

"Now one step to the left. Swing your stick just like that and-"

Thorin watches with a little smile on his face how Dwalin keeps up an endless stream of words with his students, correcting them here and there and constantly telling them how they can get better than they already are. He probably talks as much during those lessons as he does during the rest of the day combined and that alone tells Thorin just how much he loves teaching others what he knows.

Dwalin ends his lesson after a few more moments, dismissing his students and telling them to wash and clean themselves before lunch. Only then does he notice Thorin leaning against the tree and watching him. He walks over with a smile, stretching a little before coming closer. Thorin, however, stops him at an arm's length before Dwalin can give him a kiss, even though there is nobody else around who might be able to watch them.

"You're sweaty all over and you smell," Thorin says in mock disgust, wrinkling his nose. Dwalin pouts.

"That never bothers you when we're on the road somewhere or just spent a day forging..." he complains.

"Correction: it still does, but we don't have a way to rectify it at that point. Now go wash yourself off. Or I might have to do it..."

Dwalin laughs, that wonderfully free and booming sound that always sets something loose inside Thorin. It becomes a mite harder to care about the sweat and dirt all over Dwalin's body all of a sudden.

"Well, I certainly won't hold you back, if you know what I mean..." he wriggles his eyebrows in what he probably still thinks is a suggestive manner, even though five decades of being together with Thorin should have proven him wrong by now. Thorin simply rolls his eyes and pushes him forward, towards their home where some large water barrels and lunch are waiting for them.

"I certainly do. Now move."

"All commanding today, are you, my king?" Dwalin's voice takes on a slightly deeper note and there is a shimmer in his eyes that tells Thorin that he could 'command' him to do a whole lot of other things right now. He almost gives in right then and there - almost, until his stomach rumbles audibly.

"Food and cleaning up first. Then we'll see."

Dwalin looks rather disappointed but then he gives Thorin's hand a quick squeeze before he takes off towards their home.

"First one back wins!" he shouts and Thorin simply laughs as he follows him, laughs until the blue sky above him seems to dance with the strength of his joy.

*

Getting used to sight in one eye is _hard_.

Thorin hisses as he lifts his arm, still not able to get it higher than his healing shoulder. For a moment he envies Dwalin - despite his missing leg he seems to have adapted to his bodily changes way faster than Thorin ever could. Dwalin has been out of bed and training even before the doctors had technically allowed it and Thorin could only understand too well why. Neither of them were built to sit still, even less to do so for long times when they have to recover from injury or illness.

He parries Dwalin's slash and follows it up with a stab of his own, clenching his teeth at the burning in his arm. His muscles have become terribly weak and he hates it with a passion even though this is not the first time that he has to fight to built it up his muscle mass to what it once was again. What is even worse, however, is the sudden lack of depth perception linked to the loss of his eye - he's had to relearn it all, from judging distances to grabbing a simple pen and paper from a table and it frustrates him to no end.

Dwalin makes another move in his direction and they dance back and forth for a while until the pain in their bodies becomes too strong for either of them to ignore it.

"We used to be able to do this for so much longer when we were younger," Dwalin sighs as they put their practise weapons back on the rack and wipe their sweaty faces.

"Yeah." Thorin rolls his shoulders a little, testing out how much he can still move them. "Never thought that old age would catch up with us so quickly..."

"Well. It wasn't so much old age as it was getting sliced up and crushed by orcs in battle," Dwalin remarks dryly.

"True," Thorin yawns. The sparring has made him tired and suddenly he wishes he could go to bed and take a nap. Of course he can't - as king there is far too much he still has to do.

"You look tired," Dwalin remarks promptly. "Sparring wasn't too much? It's been a while..."

Thorin rolls his eyes.

"I'm not _that_ old yet."

Dwalin only snorts and pats him on his good shoulder. Thorin glares at him, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, making Dwalin only laugh harder.

"C'mon, at least you didn't fall over again because you overdid it, like back after you got that arrow in your back and insisted on being up and about again only two days later, simply keeling over during sparring."

Thorin cringes slightly at the memory - he has always pushed himself to the limit and more than once paid the price for it. This had been one of the more embarrassing instances.

"Well, maybe age _did_ bring some wisdom with it," he admits.

"Not too much though I hope, or I won't recognise you anymore," Dwalin says with a completely straight face. Thorin can't help but snort out a laugh.

"As if you're one to talk."

"Oy, don't insult me."

"You just insulted me!"

They stare at each other for a good moment before they break out in haltless laughter that makes the walls of the mountain ring. It is good to laugh like this again; it is good to _live_ again and finally be complete, after so many years of searching.

*

The sound of a grindstone on steel has always been a comfort to Dwalin since the first time he learned how to take care of his weapons. It's the same today, the slow and grinding sounds filling the air as he and Thorin are sitting in comfortable silence side by side working in their weapons. It's a routine they have gone through countless times before in preparation before battles, something that has become ingrained in them now and that still makes them feel like everything is going to be alright.

Thorin's fingers are wrapped securely around his own weapon and grindstone and Dwalin takes a second to take in the wrinkles around them, the signs of old age that has now finally caught up with them. It is amazing what those hands have seen and felt through all these years. Dwalin sighs a little.

Both he and Thorin know that they probably won't come back.

The armies amassing in front of the mountain are big and every single fighting dwarf from the mountain is needed. Fíli and Dís have begged them to stay behind but of course they won't; not when the fate of their people and most of Middle-earth is on the line once more. Even Dáin will come fight with them once more. At the same time they are aware that they are old and their enemies are numerous; both he and Thorin are tired now and the Halls do not seem too bad of a prospect after a lifetime spent fighting and protecting their people.

"Sharp enough?" Thorin holds out his sword in Dwalin's direction, a slight smile on his face. Dwalin doesn't have to touch the blade to know  but of course he does, yet another ritual between them.

"As always." He smiles back, giving his own axe a few last grinds before handing it over to Thorin to test as well. Thorin nods and gives it back to him.

For a moment they simply sit and breathe, drinking in the sound of the mountain around him, the familiar smell of its hallways and comforting closeness of all the stone. A horn sounds in the distance and rips them both out of their thoughts.

"It is time, I guess," Thorin says quietly.

"Yeah." Dwalin slowly stands up from his seat. Despite his exhaustion he still relishes every moment that he and Thorin have been able to spend within Erebor together. The thought that he will never touch those walls again fills him with sadness although he knows its unavoidable. In Thorin's eyes he can read the same thoughts and with a little smile he reaches out and squeezes Thorin's shoulder briefly.

Thorin reaches up, their fingers touching for a moment before he nods towards the door behind which their armour is waiting.

"Let's go," he says and his words carry with them everything that cannot be said out loud. They have lived and fought and loved and experienced everything they could and done so together. They have earned their right to an ending.

Now is the time.


End file.
